Post 452: Independence is all I need.
When all is said and done, the loss of independence is the single most worrying loss during cancer, and I want it back.
Finding things to do becomes the preserve of the afflicted, and the years of declining strength are coupled with the fear of becoming a patient whose existence is confined by four walls.
Yes, I feel trapped.
Yes, it’s a feeling rather than a fact… as yet.
But here I am, feeling trapped.
It’s not that I’m in a terrible mental space or, as it happens, a bad physical space, but today I’ve woken with niggles that remind me I’m not out of the woods yet and that the cancer is still there, ready to bite and remind me I’m a sufferer.
I was reminded of that when a fellow sufferer came across the road and handed me a big bowl of home-grown tomatoes.
He’s retired, nearly eighty, and in the middle of a bout of chemo.
He looked shaken, and our brief chat became a comparison of his treatment with my own experiences.
Because he was struggling to make his legs and lungs work today, he sat on a chair just inside the front door to catch his breath while I dealt with the fruits he had brought me.
He told me how tired he was and asked again how my treatment was going.
He noticed the stairlift and remarked how lucky I was to have it.
The conversation came to an end after he insisted I tell him my latest PSA.
I think he realised at that moment that we are suffering very differently.
His PSA of 7 is fantastic, even though he is very tired and had probably used most of his energy simply walking across the road to see me.
But the return journey was noticeably quicker, almost as though he needed to get away from me and my PSA of 1268.
It was almost as if I was contagious with some horrible disease.
But it makes me think.
It reminds me of the situation I’m in.
The PSA I have.
The pains I have.
The uncertainty I live with.
The daily grind.
Today is a bad day, and the pains I had a month ago, which were treated with steroids, are back in a milder form.
Still, it’s a bad sign.
I’m limping on my right leg with pain in my hip, and it was only last Friday that I took my last steroid.
That’s not fair.
I’d hoped the pains would stay away for a few weeks, or even months.
Days just doesn’t seem fair.
A pal of mine came to see me today to check over my little Mini with a view to giving it the once-over before its MOT.
He’s an expert and, over the years, I’ve helped him many times with other people’s cars, so he completely understands my current predicament and everything that goes with it.
He knows I want my independence back, and he knows he can help me get this little car back on the road.
Today was just a quick assessment, with tomorrow set aside for the work needed to get everything ready before booking the MOT.
We’ll see what tomorrow brings.
I just wish I could still get down and dirty like I used to…
But those days are gone.
I’ll pick myself up with the knowledge that I have a few bags of sweets and biscuits to help alleviate the stresses of cancer.
I’ll count my blessings while eating chocolate Hobnobs and Haribo jellies.
Moan over…
Now, where are those sweets?
Take care.
